


Dirty Words

by lornrocks



Category: Fandom: Heroes
Genre: M/M, Swearing, because milo swearing is hot as hell, dirty talking, fetish for dirty words, heymykinksareshowing, partytime, peterwillalwaysbeabottomtome, thewall, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lornrocks/pseuds/lornrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt where Peter swearing turns Sylar on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Words

"Fuck."

Sylar looks up, startled, from the book he's been reading. Peter, who has been hammering away at the wall for what seemed like hours, is staring down at his hand.

"You okay?" Sylar asks, standing up and craning his neck to get a better look.

"Yeah, I'm-" Peter pauses to try and catch his breath back (since he gets so out of breath hammering at the wall, something Sylar will never understand) before continuing, "-I just cut my hand open."

He holds his hand up so the other man can see it. There's a gash in his palm with dark crimson dribbling down his wrist and on to his coat. Sylar frowns.

"Stay here, I'll go get you some bandages."

Peter nods once so Sylar turns and heads off to find some bandages and antiseptic cream. He knows that his companion won't let him put the medicine on him, claiming that since this is a dream, it won't matter if he disinfects the cut or not, but Sylar will put it on the other man anyway.

As he digs through the medicine cabinet in his surrogate apartment, he can't help but hear the echo of Peter's voice in his head, repeating "fuck" over and over again. Such vulgarity from someone usually so innocuous is startling, unusual, and strangely enough, hot.

Now there's a word he hasn't used in years. But that's exactly what it was. That single action of Peter's was just so interesting to Sylar. He couldn't put his finger on it.

Shrugging it off, Sylar heads back to Peter and helps bandage up his hand, and that's that.

Some time later, since time was irrelevant where they were, after all, Peter was working on the wall again. Sylar maybe accidentally said something Nathan would have said, one of his memories.

Peter had stopped immediately, dropped the sledgehammer, and stomped off.

Sylar stared at the retreating form for a moment before hurrying after it.

"Peter! Wait! I'm sorry!" He had just caught up to Peter when he turned around and came face to face with Sylar.

"Stop fucking saying that."

He had looked severe, angry. Like no Peter Petrelli Sylar had ever seen, although he vaguely recalls when Peter from the future had come to see them. _That_ Peter was too severe, too cold.

Sylar tries to open his mouth but gets interrupted.

"All you do is apologize, saying you're fucking sorry, but you're not. I know you're not, because you never gave one shit about me or my brother. Ever." Peter shakes his head and turns to walk away, before abruptly turning back.

"You stupid fuck. It's your fault we're stuck in here, and now, thanks to you, thousands will die." He frowns at the ground. "Son of a bitch."

This time when he stomps off Sylar knows better than to follow him, but he can still hear Peter as he mumbles to himself as he walks away, incoherent phrases filled with fuck's and shit's and just once, Sylar swore he overheard the other man calling him a pussy under his breath.

He should feel upset, betrayed, hurt, anything, but instead, all he feels is the fascination he always feels when encountering a particularly interesting problem. Peter only swore like this when he was extremely angry. Even though all this rage was being directed at him, Sylar couldn't help the aching sensation that was traveling down his spine and settling in his abdomen.

He watches the place where Peter was for a moment, hoping he'll appear, but knowing he won't, turns back to his apartment. That night, he scrunches his eyes shut and replays those filthy words bleeding from Peter's mouth, hand working furiously as he tries to re-imagine that passion being directed at him.

Things are seriously changing in their little prison. Years have gone by, in a relative timeline, but for some reason it feels like an eternity has passed. Every minute feels like an hour, every hour a lifetime.

Sylar's not sure when Peter started to come around. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was exhaustion.

It didn't really matter.

Peter doesn't really get mad anymore. At least, not at Sylar. Instead, he directs most of his emotions towards their unmoving, stoic prison, sitting in the middle of nowhere, taunting them.

Secretly, Sylar misses the way Peter's eyes sparkle with passion when he's angry. The words themselves, words that he's heard thousands of times before, he misses hearing them echo through the empty city.

Sometimes he thinks of doing something to piss Peter off, just so he can hear those words from Peter's mouth again.

Little did he know, he'd be getting his wish. They were at the Wall again, Sylar reading and getting water for Peter, Peter hammering away.

He's not sure why, but lately sometimes Peter will talk quietly about himself. Stuff Sylar already knows because of Nathan's memories, but he lets the other man talk. Mostly it's just some recollection of stuff that had happened, but today, Peter decided he was going to rant about his parents.

Once he got going, he couldn't stop, and before Sylar knew it, Peter was practically shouting, taking his anger out on the Wall as he hammered and yelled at it, like it was responsible for taking his powers and ruining his family instead of Arthur.

"He just thought that I would go along with his plan. As if I could stand by and watch him enable the world to split itself in two. That fucking idiot."

Sylar freezes and wills himself not to look up or show any sign of how affected he was.

Peter has stopped hammering for a split second, but immediately throws himself back into it as he continues his rant.

"And the worst part is they wanted me to choose sides! My mom and me versus my dad and Nathan. As if that bastard hadn't made it hard enough, he took away my powers. That coward. He was afraid. Some father figure he was, too fucking afraid to admit he was wrong, too...too-"

Peter stops talking suddenly, hammer down, staring at the wall. He doesn't move for several seconds, and Sylar is starting to worry. He stands up and stands behind Peter, placing a hand on his shoulder.

They stand there for several seconds before Peter nods his head once, twice, and then picks up the hammer to start again.

He doesn't talk again for the rest of the evening.

Sylar would say he feels guilty with what he does with those memories after, but he realizes that honestly, remorse never worked for him anyway.

Sometime later, they're sitting, staring at the Wall and feeling energized.

Sylar sits still, perfectly still, a skill he's honed from years of stalking his prey, but Peter, he's definitely a fidgeter. He can't stop moving, changing positions, tapping his foot, and all that. Sylar's about to ask what the deal is before Peter turns to his companion suddenly.

"I think we might actually have a real shot at getting out of here now," he's saying, and Sylar can't help but notice the way his eyes sparkle with determination. He's reminded of a time when he remembered those races Peter and Nathan used to do. This time, however, he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't want Peter to shove him against a wall again. Well, actually...

...Nevermind.

Bad idea.

He mentally shakes his head to clear the image and settles on nodding encouragingly instead.

"Definitely."

Peter stands up, manic with energy, and goes for a bottle of water.

"I mean, I just feel...better. Not good," he takes a long drink, "But you know, better. I think we can really get out of here and save Emma."

A few more drinks of water, and Peter sets the bottle down. He seems a little bit more calm, now.

"I'll just be happy to get out of here," he says, a little more quiet than the last time. "I mean, shit."

Sylar tenses visibly and quickly tries to shrug it off, but Peter notices and tilts his head a little.

"You okay?" he asks, and Sylar is quick to defend himself- pretty much too quick. Peter stares for a second before turning back to the wall, casually picking up the sledgehammer.

"I can't wait to get out of here and beat some sense into that fucker Samuel," he growls, swinging at the Wall.

Sylar stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. He tries to focus on making his breathing normal, on ignoring the words that Peter can't seem to stop using, but he really can't. He hunches his shoulders and looks away, concentrating on the sound of metal hitting brick to calm his nerves.

Unfortunately, Peter continues on, swearing like a sailor, rambling about homicidal carnival leaders and vengeful governments and all sorts of other injustices, making sure to pepper every other sentence with a choice swear word.

By now, Sylar's shrugged off his jacket and is standing against the chain link fence, head slumped, trying to ward of all the horribly inappropriate thoughts swirling in his brain and all the blood that seems to have rushed southward.

Peter will just NOT quit.

"-I guess it's just, like, he's been fucking lucky or something, because-"

Sylar can't take it anymore.

"STOP," he groans, louder than he intended, and Peter immediately stops talking and turns to face the other man.

"Hmm?" he asks, face the picture of innocence.

The light bulb goes on.

Fucker.

Sylar's over there in a flash, pulling the hammer from Peter's hands and unceremoniously tossing aside before grabbing handfuls of Peter's hair and tugging him forward so he can kiss that stupid, filthy mouth of his.

Sylar pulls back, and he can actually hear Peter whimper in response, so he takes the lead and starts undoing the fastenings on the other man's pants.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" he asks, breathless.

Peter slides a hand up the back of Sylar's shirt.

"No," he replies, "But you do."

Sylar's hands still.

"Weird," he says, simply, and Peter shrugs and pulls on the taller man's collar to bring his mouth back down.

Somehow, in the middle of their tryst, Peter's turned them around so Sylar's back is against the Wall. He's started moving down, making like he was going to get down on his knees, but Sylar tugs him back up.

"I want...I want to hear you talk," he explains in a hurried voice, a slight blush creeping up his neck. Peter just slides his hand down, going on slight tip toe so he can whisper into the other man's ear.

"I've been a bad boy, Sylar. I've been spending all day, thinking about my lips wrapped around your cock. It's driving me crazy. But since you don't want my mouth occupied, I guess we'll have to find other things to do, yeah?"

Sylar nods stupidly as Peter's hand dips underneath his waistband.

"Maybe you can fuck me, spread me open with your fingers and then when I'm nice and ready, fuck me against the wall, nice and rough," Peter purrs, voice sounding so uncharacteristically sexy that Sylar has to bite his lip to keep from groaning too loudly.

Summoning some dignity, Sylar manages to reply, "I'd love to fuck you, Peter."

The hand that was pumping his cock suddenly pulls back and Sylar opens his eyes to see what happened. Peter has started to undo his jeans, looking up from under his bangs with wide eyes, biting his lip like he always does.

Peter lets a moan slip from his lips as he's turned around and pushed against the wall. His pants are violently tugged down, along with his black boxer briefs, and sure enough, Sylar slides a saliva-slicked finger inside him. He starts to move his finger, adding another, before demanding in a quiet voice, "Keep talking."

Peter swallows and tries to remember words before starting again.

"Oh, fuck Sylar, keep fucking me open. It feels so good," he pauses to press his forehead against his forearms.

Sylar adds another finger and twists them slightly, moving his fingers around until he gets Peter to arch his back and let out a breathy "fuck". He's contemplating adding another finger when Peter pushes his hips back.

"Come on, fuck me already. I just...I need this."

There's a pause, as Sylar pulls his fingers out and rubs a hand across his own cock, spreading precome around as best he can before lining himself up carefully. He pushes in slowly and deliberately, drawing a few more groaning fuck's from Peter, who's started mumbling random words that come to mind in an effort to keep talking.

"Oh fuck, _Oh God_ , your cock feels so good. I swear I could come right now, you feel so fucking good," is the first coherent sentence out of his mouth (if you can really call it that), and the rest just sort of follows.

Peter feels pretty close, so he tilts his head back.

"Make me come," he groans, louder than he normally would have. The sound of their skin slapping together is echoing so loud in the empty city, and Peter can barely hear himself think over the noise. It's a constant reminder of the here and now, and he's not sure he can take it anymore.

A hand snakes down and starts jerking his cock, grip strong but not too tight, and in seconds he's shouting Sylar's name as he comes in hot spurts.

He feels Sylar tense and still behind him, and Peter can't help but bite his lip and moan at the sensation of being filled. Sylar slumps back and wraps his arms around Peter's middle, pulling him into an embrace as they try to regain their breaths back.

"You're a dick," he says, at last.

Peter smiles.

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ dick."

Sylar plants a gentle kiss on the back of Peter's neck.

"You better be after that, you fucking tease." His tone is light, joking, and Peter inwardly congratulates himself for finding the way to get Sylar to cheer up.

Maybe now they could _really_ make progress against that fucking Wall.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ a long time ago.


End file.
